


Fluffy Slippers

by Writing-Rammstein (writingfanfic)



Category: Rammstein
Genre: Adorable boy, Cuddling & Snuggling, F/M, Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-20 07:02:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13712415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingfanfic/pseuds/Writing-Rammstein
Summary: For the prompt: 'can u hook a gal up with some good ol reader/paul hugging?'Ofc. If you spot the *secret reference*, you win internet bragging rights.





	Fluffy Slippers

You walk into the door, and immediately scream as soon as the door shuts behind you. Not a scream of fear, or apprehension - just unleashing the build-up of emotions at the Day You Have Just Had into the air of your house.

That’s better.

“ _Was ist los?!_ ”

Paul staggers out of the kitchen, and you stare at him, brow furrowed, as he stares back.

“Are-- are you okay? Are you hurt?!” he asks, and you shake your head.

“Paul, what’re you doing here, you’re supposed to be at practise ‘til 5,” you say, dumbfounded. and check your watch. _4:34_ , and he doesn’t look like he just got in. He’s wearing fluffy slippers, for a start. You’re not sure he wears those to practise.

“Flake did not show up.” He shrugs. “His car… uh, kaput, so we are changing it to tomorrow.” You take your coat off, throwing it onto the pile next to the door, and he rolls his eyes, but doesn’t tell you to hang it up. “Do you want a drink?”

“Do we have… scotch, mixed with… uh, vodka?” you ask, and he laughs. “With a chaser of rum, whiskey and… I don’t know… tequila?”

“Do you, perhaps, need a glass of wine, sweetheart?” he teases affectionately, and you sigh.

“I just want a hug. Everyone at work can go die in a fire,” you mutter, and he pulls you close; you rest your face on his shoulder, sighing, and he strokes your back gently, fingers fluttering down your spine.

“I understand. Go and sit in the living room.” He waves at you, and you roll your eyes. “ _And take off your shoes_!” You do so, and throw yourself onto the sofa, literally - you lie, face down, groaning into the cushions, and after a moment you hear something being set down on the table; then your legs are lifted up as he shuffles under you, setting them back down on his lap.

“Am I dying, Paul?”

“No, sweetheart.”

“S’a shame,” you mumble, and he gently begins to trace his fingers down your legs; you wriggle, and push yourself up, snuggling under his arm.

“On the table, you have a glass of wine,” he says, softly, and kisses your head. “And I have cuddles for you, if you want them.” You nod, and he pulls you close, stroking your hair gently. “And you may, uh, bitch to me all you want to about your day. I have no further complaints about mine other than, I wish Flake would take better care of his cars if he is so obsessed with them.” You snort with laughter, and Paul kisses your head.

“Oh, I don’t know…” you start, and as you complain, you realise with Paul’s arms around you, today doesn’t feel so bad.


End file.
